


Unpacking

by Salchat



Series: After Atlantis [1]
Category: Stargate Atlantis
Genre: Angst, Friendship, Gen, Team
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-08
Updated: 2019-05-08
Packaged: 2020-11-22 17:54:45
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,599
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20878307
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Salchat/pseuds/Salchat
Summary: Sam deals with her emotions after she is removed from the command of Atlantis.





	Unpacking

Sam sat on the bed in one of the VIP rooms at the SGC. She felt stunned. 'Relieved of command'. And Woolsey taking over. It was so sudden. To be at one moment on Atlantis, worried about Colonel Sheppard, who had still been in surgery when she left, pleased that Teyla and her baby were safe, concerned that the missing jumper indicated the possibility of Michael's survival. She hadn't really come down from the adrenaline high of that last mission and now, here she was in the far underground depths of the SGC, alone with her thoughts.

There was a knock at the door. "Come in!" she called, wondering what fresh torment was to arrive now. An airman entered, pulling a trolley of crates.

"Your personal items, Ma'am." He began unloading, carefully stacking the crates against the wall.

"Oh." Sam said blankly. "Thank you."

This made it seem all the more irrevocable. All trace of her removed from Atlantis as if to underline her banishment. She wondered who had packed for her so quickly. Hoped, and was sure, that any of those under her command would have treated her things with care. She had let her house and put most of her things in storage, taking only what she needed to Atlantis. She would unpack a few things into the VIP room now and wait to see where she would be assigned next.

Sam opened one of the crates. And smiled. On the top was a variety of makeshift notes and cards; paper was in short supply on Atlantis, paperwork being dealt with on tablets and laptops. She sifted through the pile. Lots of scraps of paper saying 'thank you', 'we'll miss you', 'sorry', one (anonymous, but Sam had her suspicions) with little cartoon pictures of hearts being speared by wraith darts, and one, short rather wobbly note just saying 'sorry' and 'thank you' signed by John Sheppard. Well at least that was one less worry; the surgery must have gone well. Sam picked up all the notes and cards and laid them carefully on the table to enjoy reading them again later. She returned to the crate. It seemed to contain mostly clothes. And someone seemed to have packed her framed photos in amongst them, to protect them.

She unwrapped one of the photos from a sweatshirt. It was a very old SG-1 team photo. It had been taken off-world, she couldn't remember where, but it must have been in the early days of the team.  
Colonel O'Neill standing, MP5 in his hands, alert as always, expression hidden behind aviators and beneath his ballcap. He never relaxed when off-world; even when asleep he would rouse at the slightest thing, ready to protect his team. He was still protecting them now, from Washington and, Sam knew, would be extremely angry on her behalf.

He would have tried to prevent the IOA from removing her from Atlantis. He would have done everything he could, still fighting for SG-1, still with the best interests of each of them at heart.

Sam wondered how Jack kept in touch with Teal'c. They were so close in the old SG-1 days, although that closeness was never expressed in any kind of overt way. Did they talk on the phone now? Sam imagined how the conversation would go: "T." "O'Neill." And then she struggled to think of anything else. In the photo, Teal'c, also standing, staff weapon in hand, with an expression that, at the time she would have described as 'frowning inscrutability'. Now, she recognised it as that of a Jaffa who found himself in the bewildering, yet welcome situation of being part of a team, not bound together through fear and intimidation, but through a shared goal, mutual respect and camaraderie. A Jaffa who, quite simply, couldn't believe his luck. 

Daniel sat on the ground, notebook in hand, squinting up at the camera from beneath his boonie, long hair sticking out at various unlikely angles. He looked impossibly young. Sam looked more closely. She sometimes wondered if he had lied about his age. He must have been very young when he gained his first doctorate. Maybe he'd put on a few years at the same time he'd first put on that dreadful tweed jacket, in an ultimately vain attempt to gain some credibility in the academic world. But no, when he started working for the military, that would have been found out and corrected, surely. Or maybe not. At the time, firstly his expertise was needed and then his silence, and when he demanded to go through the gate - would anyone have bothered to correct any minor details of paperwork for someone who was going on what amounted to a top secret suicide mission? Sam thought she might ask Daniel. But he might not even remember by now. So much had happened in the intervening time and, as an archeologist, Daniel thought in terms of thousands or even millions of years; a couple of years here or there would mean nothing to him. She'd probably get a vague, indeterminate answer and then a mug held out for more coffee.

In the photo, Sam sat next to Daniel, pack in front of her, sorting through MREs, an open laptop resting on a log beside her. She was looking up, smiling unguardedly, excited to be off-world and about life in general. Sam could still easily relate to those feelings now. Despite all the hardships she had been through, all the loss, for her the excitement never faded. Both galaxies were amazing places and if she were offered the opportunity to explore a third she'd grab it with both hands and accept whatever danger came along with the adventure.

Sam decided she would allow herself one day of commiseration. One day to indulge her disappointment and really wallow in her feelings of sadness and disillusionment. And then she would pick herself up and move forward with her life, head held high in the certain knowledge that she had done her duty. She would need Daniel. She would need Teal'c. She would need a lot of ice cream. Those requirements were an absolute bare minimum. Ice cream; various flavours, various tubs. There was no point trying to share, spoon and spoon about in a companionable way. Sharing ice cream was anathema to Teal'c. It awoke all his dormant First Prime instincts. His spoon stood in for a staff weapon, his tub of ice cream a vault of Goa'uld treasure to be guarded with his life and the lives of others at his casual disposal. Sharing ice cream was simply not fair to Teal'c. It was different, but equally impossible with Daniel, especially if the ice cream in question was pistachio. He would begin fairly enough but as the level in the tub sunk lower his blue eyes would start to take on a wistful expression, his head would lower and Sam would find herself the victim of one of his trademark quick flicks up and down of those pleading eyes accompanied by a very slight, shy smile. In the distant past this would have been a completely unconscious expression, born of Daniel's chequered history including the loss of his parents, his fall from academic grace and his complete perplexity with the military world. Now, Sam thought, he used it like a weapon; maybe he even practised in a mirror. Either way, it would mean less ice cream for Sam; separate tubs of ice cream were a necessity.

Sam wondered if Cassie were available or even nearby. Then she thought, maybe the Daedalus was in orbit? Cassie had agreed to have a subcutaneous transmitter, as a person potentially at-risk. She could easily be beamed somewhere close by. Sam was definitely owed a few favours and General O'Neill was probably just angry enough at her situation to authorize it. It would be wonderful to see Cassie again.

Sam took out another sweater and underneath was a frame she didn't recognize. She picked it up. There was a handwritten note stuck in the corner of the frame. She read: 'From Teyla and the team. We will miss you.' It was a photo she didn't remember being taken; herself in the centre, John Sheppard and Rodney McKay to her right and Teyla and Ronon to her left, all smiling at the camera. She felt her eyes well up. Her hands gripped the frame tightly and then she held the picture closely to her, emotions rising in her chest, her throat closing with raw grief. She felt the full force of her loss, not only professional, but personal. These people were her friends. They'd come to rely on each other. Sam couldn't just switch off her feelings of protectiveness, not just to her premiere team but to all of the Atlantis staff. They were hers to defend. And she might never see them again.

She took several deep breaths. Her jaw clenched, her head up, she watched herself in the mirror that hung on the wall. Yes, she was hurt, yes, she would miss Atlantis and everyone who lived there. But years of challenge and conflict had forged in her an iron resolve; she had been tested many times and knew her own strength. She would carry on doing her job to the very best of her ability. She would give of herself unstintingly and, what's more, she would carry on with all the force of her trademark positivity, enthusiasm and compassion. 

"Beat that, IOA!" she said firmly. And set off in search of her friends. And a lot of ice cream.


End file.
